


Crowned With Lilies

by sunbeamruins



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, F/M, Hardy left to pick up daisy and came right back and now its a few years later, Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Magical Realism, Post-Season/Series 02, the not quite a relationship is even shakier here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23292472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunbeamruins/pseuds/sunbeamruins
Summary: She's the last thing he expected to see, but he's always had a bad habit of underestimating her anyway.A Broadchurch Orpheus and Eurydice au, told from the other side (quite literally)
Relationships: Alec Hardy/Ellie Miller
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	Crowned With Lilies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Twisha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisha/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Wreaths of Asphodel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23234356) by [sunbeamruins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunbeamruins/pseuds/sunbeamruins). 



Reality warps.

The first thing that registers is the hard floor. 

There had been another car, and then he'd turned up here. In these wheat fields, full of other people just as dull and colorless as their surroundings. 

And so was he. 

The sky never changed, and the horizon stretched endlessly in all directions. Somehow he could tell that no matter how long or far he walked, he'd never find anything else. 

He wandered about for a while, aimlessly meandering through the monotonous landscape with nothing but his own thoughts for company. Eventually he caved and attempted his most hated thing: small talk. 

But no one responded. 

Disgruntled there wasn't even a tree to lean against, he spread his trench coat on the ground and laid down. He closed his eyes, and ever since then nothing's changed.

Not until now. 

Pushing himself up from the newly smooth dark stone floor, he sees the first color since he got here. 

And it's a brilliant, familiar orange. 

Ellie Miller is standing before him, and she's facing down a giant. 

The giant's large cloaked figure dwarfs her frame, even seated from a distance, but she burns brightly against the dark.

"Well then, start walking," rumbles out from the giant, and with a hurried step, Miller starts moving. 

She surprisingly walks in the largest possible turn she can make as she heads out.

He's confused, and feels like there's half a conversation he's missing, but he knows exactly what he wants to do. 

He follows her out. 

There's a voice in his ear, as ancient as time itself. It whispers "If she sees you, you're mine forever."

It send shivers down his back and makes his skin crawl.

There are no eyes visible from under the seated figure's hood, but he can feel them burning into his back as he leaves anyway. After so long unacknowledged, it's almost overwhelming. 

They follow him as he follows Miller down a long hallway, further than they have any right to. Their weight only lifts once they exit.

She steps out into the familiar fields of wheat and he's overcome with a sense of dread. He's reluctant to let her out of his sight, but if the opulent palace they just left disappears they would be back where he started. And he doesn't want that for anyone, least of all Ellie. 

She pauses, and in his distraction he nearly walks right into her.

“I know you claim to hate this parka but at least it’ll make it easier for you to follow me,” she says. 

It's her voice that makes it finally sink in.

She's here.

 _Really here._

The joy that grows within his chest blooms outward, strangling out the roots of disbelief that have been steadily tightening around his heart. 

“Don’t think I never overheard the traffic cone comments, this better end them for good,” she continues.

"Never again. I promise," he says, corner of his mouth lifting into a small smile.

It's another few moments before she begins walking again, and launches into chattering about the news. 

Something is wrong. 

There's a snarky comment on how he'll be right back at it within a week missing.

"Miller?" he asks. 

She keeps talking. 

"Miller, Miller please." He falls into step right behind her. "Can you hear me?"

The worry is steadily growing. He keeps looking back, unwilling to lose the only landmark he's ever seen here. 

"Please Ellie, just answer me." He's dangerously close to begging.

If she was angry at him she wouldn't be talking at all. For some reason she can't hear him. The warning echoes in his head. 

_If she sees you, you're mine forever._

Except she can't hear him, either.

There's nothing he can do. 

He shrugs his trench coat back on, and settles in for the walk. He lets her voice wash over him, basking in the familiar presence he's missed. 

Her voice to guides him while he keeps an eye on the palace as they walk. It seems she's talking about the news, and listing off what happened since he's been gone. Has it been nearly a few months? He didn't think he had spent more than a few hours in the fields. 

There's a pang where his heart should be. If it's been so long, why is she here? How is Daisy holding up? How is she? She was supposed to move on, get over her wanker of a boss and continue to live. She was one of the strongest people he knew. 

“You know you were right. I did get offered your job. Told Elaine I didn’t want it," she tells him. 

He laughs a little at their reversal of roles, her leading them forward with him following a few steps behind. He wishes he can see her face.

"That was a few days ago, actually. I doubt they’ve got anyone else lined up, as you were a bit of an unexpected surprise to the department yourself," she continues. "So at least you’ve got your job to go back to.”

She was always so much better than him. She more than anyone should've jumped to take back the job he had "stolen". But instead she was here, risking everything to bring him back.

“Dirty Brian got engaged." 

He pulls a face at this. Is this really what she wants to tell her dead friend?

"Still don't know what to think of that. I mean I wished him luck but it still seems a bit odd." 

He rolls his eyes a bit. Of course she did.

"Wouldn’t think he put any stock in marriage. But what do we know, eh? Neither of us made particularly bright choices in that department. Don’t know who I’d be without Tom and Fred, though.” 

For all that she's been talking, she hasn't been saying much. He finally starts to listen to what she's been saying this whole time, not in words but in their absence. 

“Daisy didn’t take it well. She took some time off from uni to come for the funeral. If she wasn’t living there I bet there would've been a big fight with Tess about going back to hers, but that’s been delayed until summer break.”

That's the most she gives him about what had happened. He wants to stop and take a few seconds to process that information, but she takes off in a sprint towards some unknown destination. 

Seems apt. 

All of this feels more and more like running. 

From grief, from acceptance.

He runs after her anyway. 

She stops and waits, and as he huffs up after her, onyx stairs slowly materialize in front of his eyes. As he steps up after her, they seem to solidify. 

The view of the familiar fields grows darker the further up he gets, walls matching the steps fading in to box them in. He experimentally presses a hand against one, it feels solid enough. Miller's been counting each step she takes, and a peek over her shoulder shows a 104 written in her notebook, underlined and circled multiple times. 

Sure enough, she hits that number with a jubilated exclamation. 

The ground evens out to a passageway ending in an oppressive fog.

She pauses once again, and the cheery façade she's been upholding starts to unravel. Her shoulders start to shake, and her hands cover her face in a vain attempt to hide the tears.

He can hear her crying, and he does what he's always done, offer a comforting hand. Its all she'd ever let him do. She'd set strict boundaries between them, and he's not going to be the one who breaks them. She's dealt with enough. If she's ever ready, it's up to her to let him know. Until then he's happy to be there for her as much as she'd let him be.

Except she freezes at his touch. 

She doesn't shrugs him off, but he still carefully withdraws his hand. He can tell when he's not wanted. Irrationally, he considers turning back. He'd only hurt her again, like he's already done so many times before. 

The rest of the façade crumbles away as she straightens her shoulders, and keeps moving forward.

The dense swirls are blinding, an outstretched hand barely distinguishable. 

He's close enough he knows that he should be able to feel the heat off her skin. Instead his muted senses barely even register her presence. 

Every step forward is harder, the fog fighting him, curling around, threatening to drag him back. It's like walking through a viscous liquid, and every reflexive breath is a struggle. 

He's certain their time in the hazy in-between stretches out longer for him.

He stumbles back into the world, blinking in the sunlight. He watches as the hand he moves to protect his eyes goes opaque, and then fades further. 

He searches for the closest shade, and there's some beneath the gateway trees he's just emerged from. 

A few tendrils of fog are still outstretched, beckoning him back. 

Carefully avoiding them, he darts into the shade and watches as his hand slowly returns from it's transparent state. 

That could be a problem. 

On one hand, she'd be less likely to see him. On the other, he'd really rather not find out if he could fade out completely. 

Ellie is nearly out the cemetery gates. 

He takes a deep breath, and runs through the exposed sunlight as fast as he can to catch up. 

There's enough scattered shade in the city for him to retreat into whenever he feels a bit too light.

She doesn't talk anymore.

The illusion of normality is cracked. 

If he could go back and smack his past self for ever telling her to be quiet he would. 

He didn't know it was possible to be lonely with someone else right there. 

He does everything he can to make it easier for her. 

He hangs back in the more crowded places, and she nearly disappears from his view.

There's a familiar chill growing at the back of his neck as he frantically searches the crowd. With every passing second, the cold grows.

"Lost are you?" the rasping voice whispers, like a little devil on his shoulder. 

He spots her, and he's never been more thankful for her orange jacket.

"Run." It cackles, and he does.

He sprints after her, grateful that he can slip through the crowd unimpeded. 

He sticks a bit closer after that.

She takes the train back to Broadchurch.

For some reason she chooses to walk the two miles back from the station.

This would fine, if it wasn't through over a mile of open fields and pastures.

He doesn't know if he'll make it, but he owes it to her to try. 

He steps out from the shade of the awning and follows her.

He can feel the newly recognizable lightness from the sun growing.

He fades.

Everything fades.

Until all that there is, all that's left, is her.

He can't tell if he's walking anymore, but her presence is enough to drag him along. 

His awareness of their surroundings comes back in pieces. He shakes off the lightness like the last cobwebs of a dream.

Miller is once again dwarfed by a looming presence, this time her house. And just like the last time, she stands firm and unafraid.

She leads him in, and into her living room.

Much is the same.

Fred's toys littered across the carpet, Tom's mug from breakfast sitting out and empty on the end table.

There's a new board. 

It shows the same desperation of working to distract that was present in the Sandbrook investigation.

His heart cracks as his eyes trace the strings connecting sticky notes to points across the maps.

That ache grows. 

Something's shifting. 

The carpet beneath his feet compresses as he sinks in.

She's swaying, and he's worried she's about to fall.

He hesitates, scared to reach out and be rejected once again. 

She's brought him this far, it's the least he can do. 

He softly places his hand on her shoulder, and this time she leans into it. He uses this to pivot her around and pull her into a tight hug. If this was all he was going to get before he was ripped away, he was going to savor every moment. She clutches at him just as desperately, hands around his back pulling him firmly against her. 

He could stay like this forever. 

Eventually her grip loosens, and she looks up at him with teary eyes.

"Hi," he croaks out, voice hoarse from disuse. 

He's spent so long resisting the pull of her orbit, drawing him in against his will only to fling past, doomed to repeat the process. For the first they seem to be in alignment, as she pulls him in for a kiss. 

It's nothing like he'd imagined, soft and slow and romantic. 

It's desperation, and loneliness, and _love_.

There's barely any space between them as he breathes his response out onto her lips.

"I love you too."

"Knob," she says, pulling him back to her, and he can feel her smile against his. 

He doesn't quite know where they stand, but he knows one thing.

Death may come back for him one day, but for now, he's Ellie's.

**Author's Note:**

> as usual, you can find me on [tumblr.](https://sunbeamruins.tumblr.com/)


End file.
